


Bargaining

by Sigridhr



Category: Amelia Peabody - Elizabeth Peters
Genre: F/M, Remixed Scene, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:36:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigridhr/pseuds/Sigridhr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early days of Nefret's clinic none of the women of El Was'a are willing to come, so she sets out to have a little talk with el-Gharbi. Ramses is just trying to keep her out of trouble, and to ensure that his father won't murder him by the time they get home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bargaining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bodldops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bodldops/gifts).



> This is set during _Falcon at the Portal_ , and is non-canon compliant given we're told about Nefret and el-Gharbi's first meeting during _Thunder_ and her clinic is already well up and running by that point. So, I've taken a bit of artistic license to write a conversation I wish had happened, during Ramses' epic pining years, and very shortly before The Night and then Sennia's arrival at the Emerson house. This draws inspiration from (and sort of loosely remixes) Ramses and Nefret's respective meetings with el-Gharbi in _Thunder_. 
> 
> Bodldops, I really hope this is sort of what you were looking for! I tried to keep Ramses' stoic exterior, melodramatic angsty interior. 
> 
> Or, at least, if it isn't, that you enjoy it anyway.

_“O Ra, Lord of Light, Giver of Life and taker of it, cast your light of peace unto the world.”_  
– Prayer to Amun Ra

…

 _If you build it, they will come_. Nefret snorted as she pushed a stray lock of her red-gold hair out of her face. It was odd how alike she was to Amelia, despite the fact that they were not blood relations. There was no doubt in her mind that the great _Sitt Hakim_ would have gone about things with the same efficient self-assurance – arrogance? It was, really, to think that she could change the face of the Red Blind district, after all its long history of horrors. 

The cold fact of the matter was, she had built it, and they had _not_ come. Of course, Nefret was not one to give up, and certainly not on something as important as this. She smiled sardonically as she surveyed the quiet clinic, with its waiting bandages, medicines and surgical implements laid out in neat sterile rows. 

If they would not come, then she would simply have to go to them. 

Ramses was waiting at the door when she pulled it open, his hand posed as if he were about to knock. Nefret swore, and his eyebrows twitched upwards in amusement. 

"I'm sorry to have startled you," he said. 

"You mustn't creep up on people like that," she replied with a scowl. "What are you doing here, anyway?" 

"I thought I would see how you were getting on." 

Nefret's blue eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Was it the Professor, or Aunt Amelia who sent you to check up on me?" 

"Both," said Ramses, wryly. "They think they're being so clever and furtive…"

Nefret let out a low musical chuckle. "They do have their fun, don't they? Sneaking around behind each other's backs… But I wish they wouldn't fuss so." 

The look on Ramses' face made it clear to Nefret that he hadn't come solely on his parents' request. She was tempted to roll her eyes and shove him out the door. If only they would all stop treating her like a child! Though she had no doubt in her mind that Ramses and the Professor were the best sort of men, they were still _men_ , and still prone to the silly prejudices that lead all men to think themselves inherently more capable at simply everything. 

Ramses looked around the empty clinic, his lips pressed into a thin line. Nefret let out of a huff of breath in annoyance. "It has been a bit quiet, I will admit," she said. 

"A bit," Ramses echoed, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. 

"No matter," Nefret said. "I was just on my way out. You can go back and tell the Professor and Aunt Amelia you've seen me and I'm fine." She grabbed her medical bag, rifling through the contents to double-check she had everything. 

Ramses' prominent dark brows drew together in a forbidding line. "You aren't coming back with me?" 

"No," she said huffily. Ramses simply stood still and stared at her in a way that she was _certain_ he knew was completely and utterly , and impossible to ignore. She pulled her medical bag closed with a snap and whirled around, hands on hips. 

"If you _must_ know," she said, "I am going to visit the brothels. The clinic is still new. At the very least, I can spread the word, and offer any medical treatment that is needed while I'm there." 

"Nefret," Ramses said warningly. 

"Don't," she snapped. "I will be perfectly safe. I _do_ wish you would stop _fussing_ , Ramses." 

"I'm coming with you," he said. 

"They won't speak to me if you're there. You're a man, for starters, and, worse, you're the Brother of Demons." 

"Nevertheless," he replied, emphatically. "I am coming with you." 

She sighed, picking up her medical bag, and then pulling it out of his reach when he tried to take it from her. "Oh, very well. I know there's no use arguing with you when you get that look on your face. Your eyebrows come down, and you look just like Aunt Amelia when she's in one of her moods!" 

…

Watching Nefret glide through the filthy streets of El Was'a, the hot Egyptian sun glinting off her hair, it was hard enough for Ramses to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

He wasn't blind enough to not recognize his own double standards. He and David had spent most of his teenage years crawling through places as filthy, if not filthier, and certainly more dangerous than El Was'a. And, though he didn't share Nefret's confidence in her own safety, he knew that there were few indeed who would be foolish enough to attack the daughter of the Father of Curses, even in the middle of the Red Blind district. 

Still, it did little to stop the painful way his heart constricted as Nefret marched, head held high like she was walking into battle, straight into the door of one of the district's numerous, filthy brothels. 

It was still late afternoon, and the houses were just beginning to open. Nefret's sudden entrance seemed to startle them, and he heard the unmistakable sound of the light tinkling of gold ornaments, as the house's residents fluttered to their feet like a flock of startled birds. If they were a flock, they were an unsightly one – bodies prematurely aged by drug consumption and abuse, wrapped in garments that, in the afternoon light, seemed to parody sensuousness rather than evoke it. And in the middle of it all, Nefret, like a white dove amongst a flock of pigeons. It made Ramses’ breath catch.

 _I_ am _a lovesick fool_ , he thought to himself.

She was greeting them all in turn, speaking in rapid, impassioned Arabic. He stepped back off to the side, content for the moment to watch her work. A few of the younger girls fled for the privacy of the back rooms, and a few hovered towards the back, darting nervous glances between him and Nefret. 

Nefret was lecturing on venereal disease with a frankness that made him blink and very nearly flush. He wondered what his father would make of _that_. 

From between the folds of the curtains at the back of the room, he saw a wiry brown hand reach out and draw them aside. This was undoubtedly the madam of the house. Her dark hair was streaked liberally with grey, and her face was lined, but she carried herself with a sense of imperious dignity that could belong only to a woman accustomed to getting her way. He could smell her perfume, a strong floral scent, all the way from the far side of the room. 

Nefret, guileless, though not in the least stupid, stood up and introduced herself in formal Arabic. 

"I know who you are, Sitt," the madam replied, her dark kohl-lined eyes regarding Nefret warily. "Why do you honour my house?"

"I am a doctor," Nefret said, patiently. "I have a clinic, it is here for all the women…"

"We know," said the madam, curtly. "We have no need of a clinic. You should go now." 

"But…" Nefret began. 

"Do not come back, _Nur Misur_. This is not a place for you." 

Nefret's cheeks had gone pink with frustration. Ramses took that as his cue to step forward. He placed a hand on her arm, gently but firmly. "Come, Nefret," he said. 

"Don't manhandle me," she snapped, bending down to shut her bag and pick it up. She looked around the room, making eye contact with the girls who stood watching. "You know my name," she said. "You know my clinic. If you ever need help, if you are sick, come to me. I will help you. I give you my word, as _Nur Misur_ , and as the daughter of the Father of Curses." 

Ramses gave a tug on her elbow at that, torn between the desire to laugh at the intensity of her earnestness, and to simply sweep her up in his arms and kiss her soundly. There were few people who could be earnest as intently as Nefret. He had no doubt that she'd made headway, whether she was aware of it or not. Nefret was difficult to resist. 

As soon as they'd left, she tugged her arm out of his grasp and whirled around. "I don't understand!" she said, throwing her arms up. "I am offering medical care – care which is _sorely_ needed, I am trying to _help_!" 

"It is a question of price," Ramses said, solemnly. He would be the first to stand up and defend Nefret's intelligence, but in many ways she was utterly naive, and felt a right bastard every time he destroyed a little more of her innocence. She'd stomped her foot in frustration, and there were angry tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. He had to clench his hand hard enough that his nails bit into his palms to keep from reaching out and gathering her into a close embrace. 

Nefret scowled at him, her cheeks bright with fury. "I am not _charging_ a price, Ramses. Do you think I would –"

"Not _your_ price," he said. "The girls, and the madams, they answer to the procurers." 

Nefret let out a low hiss, and Ramses' jaw clenched so tightly his lips thinned almost to invisibility. Then she let out a low, mournful noise and seemed to sag, her shoulders slumping. 

"It just feels so impossibly insurmountable," she said. "Each mountain I climb seems only to lead me to another one. I had thought once I had argued and buillied my way into medical school I could come here and begin _work_." She seemed to snap back into anger, as mercurial as she was beautiful. "How _can_ those vile men forbid them medical treatment? Is what they do not _enough_?"

"When one treats people like property, one begins to become unreasonably possessive," Ramses said. He regretted it almost as soon as he had – Nefret couldn't have looked more shocked if he'd reached out and slapped her. 

"I'm sorry," he said at once. "I didn't mean –"

"No," she said, quickly. "No, I… I didn't realize, is all. I ought to have known better. I just don't _think_ that way." 

"It's best you don't," Ramses said, vehemently. He held out his arm and said gently, "come. We should get back. Fatima will have put out all the cucumber sandwiches by now." 

Nefret gave him an odd look that he couldn't quite decipher, before she reached out and took his arm. "Right you are, my boy," she said, giving his forearm a light squeeze that made his heart skip a beat. "We'd best get back for tea. Aunt Amelia is doubtless preparing a lecture on our tardiness. I said I would be back by four." 

She seemed amiable enough, more subdued than usual, certainly, but that was not unexpected. Still, Ramses thought to himself as he picked his way through the muck, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was up to something.

It turned out that, in this case, at least, his instincts were entirely sound. 

…

Nefret had planned it well. He'd been mid-sentence when she'd suddenly dropped his arm and darted off to the left. She was already in the door before his brain had caught up, and there was little he could do but scuttle in behind her. 

She was being lead up the stairs when he entered, and he bounded up behind her with all the agility of a cat. 

"What _precisely_ do you think you are doing?" he hissed, grabbing hold of her.

"You're hurting me," she said, twisting her wrist in his grasp. "Let go." 

He did so instantly. "Good gad, Nefret, I'm sorry." 

"Don't fuss," she muttered. "If you're coming, then just follow and be quiet." 

" _Nefret_ ," he said. 

They were led down a dark hallway and into a room draped floor to ceiling with beaded hangings, gilded furniture and ornate mirrors that reflected what little light came in through the lattice-screened windows. Nefret crossed the room quickly and seated herself on the divan with a well-bred elegance that seemed entirely out of place. Ramses had the irrational desire to simply pick her up, fling her over his shoulder and run home with her. 

The servant slipped soundlessly out of the room behind him, shutting the door. 

"Nefret," he said again. 

"You cannot talk me out of this, Ramses," she said. 

"I am not even sure what _this_ is," he replied flatly, though, truthfully, he had a growing sense of foreboding that he knew _exactly_ what she was about to do. The horrible truth was that it was probably necessary, but he would never have wanted _her_ to have to do it. He would have thrown himself upon hot coals gladly for her… If he'd been thinking, he would have simply made this trip himself before now.

But he hadn't, and here she was, looking every bit the proper English lady, sitting the middle of the musky air of the house of el-Gharbi.

"You said it yourself," she said, confirming his fears. "If the madams and the girls answer to him, then it is to him that I must go." She frowned for a moment. "Or is it 'her'?"

Ramses gritted his teeth. "El-Gharbi's preference for swaddling himself in women's robes does not change his sex – erm, that is, his gender." 

If Nefret had been about to reply, she was cut off as the dark velvet hangings that covered the doorway drew back, and el-Gharbi himself, draped from head to toe in elegant white robes and smelling as if he had bathed in his perfume rather than applied it. He was smiling like the proverbial cat that caught the canary, his eyes darting back and forth between Ramses and Nefret. 

He waddled his way over to the divan, sitting himself with a flutter of fine white linen across from Nefret. 

Nefret blinked as if she had lost her nerve. Ramses recited the long exchanges of greeting, responding automatically and with long-practiced patience. Nefret seemed to rally at that. 

" _Beiti beitak_ ," he said, sweeping his hands wide in a grandiose gesture. "You honour my house, Brother of Demons, _Nur Misur_. This is an _unexpected_ pleasure."

"I am not here on a social visit," she said when they had finished inquiring after one another's health, and wishing the blessings of God upon each other. 

El-Gharbi gave an exaggerated pout, and simpered. "Come, can we not sit as acquaintances? I have heard a great deal about you," he said, leaning forwards. "Your name is known throughout Egypt, and I see, at last, that it is true – you are very beautiful." 

El-Gharbi's gaze slid slowly from Nefret's face to Ramses', and Ramses glared steely back at him, keeping his face impassive with long-practiced skill. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but Nefret glared at him and cut him off. "You are aware that I have opened a clinic here?" she asked courteously. 

El-Gharbi opened his kohl-lined eyes wide. "I have heard such a rumour," he said. "But I had not thought that _I_ would be welcome."

"You aren't," Ramses said sharply. His normally abundant patience felt frayed at the edges. Although he knew that El-Gharbi's interests lay in a very different direction than Nefret, he couldn't help the shiver of revulsion that ran through him at the way the procurer seemed to be admiring her form. It was speculative – and Ramses wondered how many other girls he'd examined that same way, checking for flaws in the "merchandise". The smell of the procurer's floral perfume seemed sickeningly sweet in the close air of the room. 

"The clinic is for the women of the district. I will provide treatment for any injuries, or illnesses they may incur at… work." She faltered over the last word, but picked up and carried on. "I have heard that you treat the girls who work in your brothels well. The clinic can help keep them healthy. It is to our mutual benefit, don't you think?" 

Ramses watched her face, and was eerily reminded of the circumstances under which they'd met. Her face was as stony and impassive as that of a statue, and she conveyed an air of authority that seemed well beyond her years. 

El-Gharbi sat back, his fat, ring-encrusted fingers resting on his protruding stomach. "You would wish me out of business should you have the chance, would you not?" he asked, his eyes dark and hooded. "I am, as you say, a humane employer. I care for my own." 

"I would see you in prison in a heartbeat if I could arrange it," Nefret said, and she sounded to Ramses like a judge passing sentence. El-Gharbi's focus was entirely on Nefret now, which was remarkable in itself. But not, he supposed, so remarkable as all that. Nefret made a habit of confounding people's expectations. She relied on people underestimating her to get her own way, and she had remarkable success. For the first time since they had entered the house, Ramses firmly believed that she would be successful here as well.

"However," she continued, "I am here on behalf of the clinic, and the clinic's sole mandate is to provide medical care to the women of the district. That is what I want, and, I think, what you want."

"An interesting proposition," el-Gharbi said, in a low voice. "Very interesting indeed." He turned his gaze at last back to Ramses, who was watching him intently. "And you, have you too come to ask me for my patronage?"

Nefret scowled. "I have _asked_ you for nothing. I am informing you of my work."

Ramses drew his cigarette case out of his pocket, and went about offering one to Nefret – which she took – and lighting both hers and his slowly and ostentatiously. "I am merely here to observe," he said, at last. 

"So you have no questions you would ask of me?" el-Gharbi said, in feigned surprise. Ramses took a long drag of his cigarette as his mind whirred trying to get ahead of the procurer. 

"I had thought, certainly, when I heard you had come to my house, that you would ask after Kalaan. A _little bird_ told me that you have had some… dealings with him." 

Nefret was looking back and forth between the two of them as if she were watching a tennis match. Her blue eyes were narrowed, and she seemed to be scrutinizing his face as if she could read the answer upon it. 

Ramses didn't realize he was holding his breath until he felt his lungs burning. He frowned, keeping his face as neutral as he could manage – which meant it was virtually unreadable – he replied, "I have had no dealings with Kalaan. I do not engage in your line of exploitation." 

"Business," said el-Gharbi admonishingly. "You use such ugly words, Brother of Demons. I sell love." 

"That is a beautiful word for an ugly trade," Ramses replied. "I think we have heard enough." His heart was still racing. The use of 'little bird' seemed unlikely to be a simple coincidence – and yet, only he and Rashida could know that he called Sennia by that name. The mention of Kalaan… 

Had he been alone, he would have questioned el-Gharbi – but this was not a conversation he wished to have in front of Nefret. Sennia's existence was known in the district; those same striking eyes that had caused him to stop had undoubtedly sent speculation running through certain members of the region, evidently including el-Gharbi. But, then, why bring it up? Simply to inform Ramses that he knew, or was there something more?

Nefret was rising to her feet. 

"I admire your candour," he said. "I will, when they need it, bring my girls to you. I would not wish you to think me a monster." He bared a full set of teeth in a grin that Nefret did not return. 

"They will be welcome," she said. "Are you ready to leave, Ramses?" 

He offered her his arm, and she took it, stepping over to his side. They exchanged brief and entirely un-heartfelt well-wishes with el-Gharbi, before sweeping out of the room and down the stairs. Nefret's fingers pressed down into his arm so hard he was certain he could feel the impressions of her nails on his skin, even through his coat. She kept her lips pressed tightly together until they'd stepped out onto the street. 

"That was simply _awful_ ," she burst out. "What an odious man."

"You did very well," Ramses said, sincerely. 

"I did, didn't I?" Nefret replied, offering him a half-smile. "Not long ago I would have cursed him out and called him every bad name I could think of in Arabic – and I thought quite a few!" 

"I would have enjoyed that considerably more," Ramses said. 

She let out a breathy sigh and rested her head against his shoulder, holding on tightly to his arm. "Why must it be so _difficult_?" she asked. "I feel I ought to be happy – the clinic will run, and I will be able to help all these women. Instead I feel like I need to scrub my skin clean off." 

Ramses swallowed, unable to think of anything but the way the curls of her hair were brushing against his cheek. He moved a hand over to her shoulder, and squeezed. 

Oh, how _simple_ it would be to just grab hold of her and kiss her right here. Almost as soon as the thought came to him, he dismissed it. Even if he weren't certain Nefret harboured no such feelings for him, she certainly deserved better to be kissed amongst the filth of El Was'a. 

"Let us go home, then," he said. "And you can scrub yourself all you like. But the clinic will do more good for the people here if it used than if it stands empty." 

"You're right – of course you are," she said. "Come. We're terribly late. Father will roar."

"He always does."

Nefret laughed. "He'll secretly be pleased. He enjoys roaring."

"He won't be pleased when he finds out where we've been," Ramses said feelingly. Even just picturing the rage his father would fly into when he learned his daughter had walked into the house of El Was'a's vile procurer had him feeling like a terrified little boy. It was absurd, but even now both his parents still had the ability to make him feel as if he were no more than six years old with a single look. He wondered if he would ever grow out of it. 

"We shan't tell him," Nefret replied firmly. "The parents keep their secrets, we have ours. They don't need to know."

"They will find out," Ramses said. "They always do." 

"Bah," Nefret said loudly in her best imitation of Emerson. It had always reminded Ramses of a kitten trying to imitate a lion. She turned to face him, and placed a slim, tanned hand on his shoulder as she looked up into his face. 

"Thank you," she said, "for letting me do this, and for trusting me. I am sorry I ran off like that, but I knew you wouldn't let me go if you had the opportunity to stop me."

He stepped back, pushing her hand off his shoulder as he ran his hand through his hair. There was a brief flash of hurt on her face, and he regretted stepping away so quickly, but the way she'd been looking up at him, so _trustingly_ , with blue eyes wide and lips slightly parted… He was beginning to think he simply wasn't in control of himself anymore. 

"I wouldn't have dared," he said, as lightly as he could manage.

"Yes you would," Nefret replied seriously. "You always fuss. Just because I'm a woman you treat me as if I am made of spun glass." 

"You're not," Ramses said, softly. "I know you aren't. I just worry, is all." 

She sighed, and reached out again to grasp his arm. He wished, simultaneously, that she would be a bit less damned _tactile_ , and that she would come closer still. "You worry too much, my boy," she said. "You take too much on yourself." 

"And you don't?" he asked. 

She sniffed, teasingly. "I never take on more than I can handle." 

"It seems to be a failing of Emerson men," he said wryly, "to be stuck chasing after women who take on only what they can handle." 

"It is your own fault. Aunt Amelia and I do just fine, thank you very much." 

"No doubt." 

She glared at him, but it lacked any real fire, and he could tell she was fighting back a smile. "No doubt," she repeated firmly. 

She stepped towards him, pressing almost right up against his side as she skirted around a pile of refuse on the road. He automatically steadied her with his arm, and she flashed a bright smile towards him. 

Giving his arm another squeeze, she asked, "what did el-Gharbi mean, about Kalaan?"

That _was_ the question, wasn't it? Ramses said to himself. Did el-Gharbi know something? Thoughts whirled around his mind like a hurricane as he contemplated the possible reasons el-Gharbi might have had for bringing the subject up. 

None of them boded well. But to Nefret he simply said, "I have no idea. I can't recall ever speaking to Kalaan, though, of course, I know who he is."

"Who is he?" 

"Another procurer, and a violent one," he replied, shortly.

Nefret looked deeply perturbed. "I wonder what el-Gharbi brought him up for…"


End file.
